


Temple of Love

by Bartkartoffeln



Series: (World of) Warcraft Stories [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Black Temple, Longing, NSFW, Other, Sex, demon hunter - Freeform, illidari - Freeform, outland - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 09:56:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16083743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bartkartoffeln/pseuds/Bartkartoffeln
Summary: When you stumble towards the doors of the Black Temple, hunted by demons, all you want to find is shelter. And yet, during your stay in this seemingly wicked place, you get the feeling that you cannot simply walk away from the calling of Lord Illidan.





	1. Shine Like Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> The first three chapters are fairly safe for work. The fourth, however, decidedly is not. ;)

You stumble towards the stronghold, tired from fighting the demons that have been hunting you for days. You held your ground, yet the skirmishes have exhausted you.

As you look upon the looming temple before you, your heart sinks for a moment. It is unlikely a place like this would inhabit friendlier creatures, let alone some who would help you. But there is only forward, and so you try to find a last bit of energy to reach the thick walls that might hide you from your enemies.

You start running. The wound in your side is leaking more blood as you move as fast as you can. You press your hand down on it, drawing more willpower from your desperation, stubbornness and pain. You reach the massive doors of the temple, hammering your fist against it. The demons are closing in.  
You turn your back to the doors, facing your doom, trying to gather what is left of your powers, lifting your weapon to fight. With a yell of defiance you strike down the first demon, who is too surprised by how much is still left in you to dodge your blow.

When the other demons lift their weapons, thunder is rolling through the dark skies, followed by light in the clouds. It illuminates your certain end in the most sarcastic way.  
Then, a shadow drops from the skies. All you can see are green double blades and a blur of flashing strikes. What was left of the demons is now a mess of blood, bones and limbs.

A fierce looking woman turns toward you.

„I am from the Illidari. Lord Illidan sends me to investigate your business here,“ the warrior says, sheathing her bloodied weapons.

You realize how hard you gripped your own and force yourself to lower it now. „I was being hunted by those demons. I merely need a place to regain my strength, a little food and water. I can pay and won’t bother you long.“

The woman looks you over for a long moment, then nods. Obviously, in your state you don’t seem to be a threat.  
„Follow me, then.“

She leads you through the dark corridors of the temple. The creatures you see strolling around look a lot like the demons you just faced outside. A feeling of dread overcomes you. Maybe you did indeed stumble from a bad fate towards a worse, though for the moment, no one seems to have hostile intentions.

The walk feels endless. The temple is a vast one, and when you arrive in front of two huge double doors, you are exhausted to the bone. The doors open, revealing a huge man, with wings slightly spread. Horns are curling from his head toward the sky, hooves are making a sound like thunder on the floor. Behind a thin cloth, fiendish eyes look at you, glowing like the fel that is tainting the land.

The shining tattoos on his chest remind you of the light in the clouds that illuminated your certain doom.  
Your guide drops to one knee, then rises again.  
„Lord Illidan. I bring you this... visitor. They were fighting demons outside the temple.“

Lord Illidan turns toward you. A slow, vicious smile spreads across his face, almost as if in mockery. Your heart beats louder, faster, you feel it echo in your chest.  
„We don’t usually take in strangers. But it seems you did something useful for Outland by decimating the demon population that is not under my command.“  
He comes closer, examining you, before turning towards the Illidari woman. „Find them a place to sleep and food. Let them rest up. Maybe they can even be useful.“

You press your lips together. Relief washes through you, as you realize that for now there is no danger to expect.  
Strangely, there is also spite in your heart.  
Somehow his words make you want to show him how useful you can be.

As if he has felt your burning gaze, he mocks you with another sly smile. But you keep silent and when your guide beckons you to follow, you do.


	2. Cry Like Rain

Fel infused rain is falling hard from the sky. Someone has tended to your wounds and after a night of sleep, though somewhat restless, your exhaustion has let up considerably.   
You are still uneasy in this place, suspicious about the demons strolling around, as well as - how they call themselves - the Illidari. 

Now you are watching them train in the courtyard, blades clashing, their fighting style a whirlwind of death. Lord Illidan himself is teaching them, sparring with the one or another.   
You, too, have your weapons close to you, freshly honed and sheathed.

Observing Lord Illidan and his Illidari is strangely satisfying. Their deadly dance and vicious blades raise an almost thrilling feeling in your chest, making you wonder what it’s like to wield these double blades. 

As the fight ends, Illidan turns to you. “Everyone at the Black Temple trains. Visitors are no exception. Show me what you can do, I shall be your judge,” he says, lifting his glaives higher. 

You rise, grabbing your weapons. Your mouth goes dry at the prospect of fighting Lord Illidan himself, if only for training. You saw his powerful moves, his strength, his agility. But you know that you are a formidable fighter yourself, your skills are refined and you know how to adapt quickly.

The ground is slippery from the rain, better suited for boots than for hooves. That should be an advantage. 

You gather your mind and body, summoning the powers given to you, unsheathing your weapons.  
Before you can raise them, Illidan is coming at you, fast and determined.

You barely dodge the first attack, the second sends you to the ground. You roll away, get back to your feet. Illidan is above you, using his wings for a vicious leap. You change your stance and this time catch his blades with your own weapons.

Using his strength against him, you redirect the blow towards the ground, making a quick step to the side.   
You put your foot on Illidan’s thigh, but before you can jump and place another blow, he beats his wings, batting you away fiercely. 

The collision of your back with a wall takes your breath away, but at least you manage to keep your head from smashing into the stone.   
Dizziness is washing through you. With willpower alone you make your body move right before Illidan’s glaives hit the wall where you were standing a second before.

This is more than a training fight. This is serious, you realize, and suddenly you are not sure if this is a fight to the death or not. 

You dodge another attack. Adrenaline is flushing your veins. 

Another vicious blow, this time you catch it. It makes your arms tingle and your muscles ache. 

Dancing away, you prepare for an attack of your own. Illidan deflects it by using his left wing, lashing out with it. Off balance, you try to regain your footing. 

You evade another two strikes barely, finally placing a blow of your own. By now, you feel every bone in your body, and your muscles are beginning to tire.   
Illidan catches your blade with his glaives and smiles slyly. 

With brute strength, he throws you back, kicks you in the chest and sends you flying again. You hit the ground hard, losing your main hand weapon. Before you can get up, one of the glaives is rammed into the ground beside your head, the other is pressed against your throat, almost gently nicking your skin. 

Illidan looks pleased. You look up to him, his looming presence almost surrounding you like a cover of welcome darkness. You are not scared. You are thrilled. You begin to understand why one would follow this man, this powerful being. 

Thunder is rolling through the clouds. The rain has soaked everything by now, you feel the fel in it burn on your skin, on your face. Illidan still hasn’t moved.  
Finally, he straightens, sheathing his blades. “Not bad. You seem a passable fighter. Stand and follow me.”

It is an order.   
Slowly, you rise to your feet and gather your weapon. The demonhunters around you seem to really pay you attention for the first time. You walk past them. The only familiar face in the crowd the one of your guide from the day before.

She gives you a nod as you glance at her. Straightening, you fall in behind Illidan, followed by the sound of clashing blades as everyone else is taking up practice again. 

The fierce cries mingle with the sound of raindrops on the ground.


	3. Hear My Calling

Illidan’s hooves echo on the floor of the wide hallways. His servants - or followers, you aren’t sure - watch over your path, gazes partly bored, partly envious. You’re not sure if this personal audience with the man is an honor or certain doom, nor do you understand how you earned it.

Still, you stare at the leathery wings before you, following him through the Black Temple. When he starts talking, his voice is dark and a little rough.

“Everything you see here, every single creature in this wicked place, is under my command, and they serve only one purpose: To wage war against the Burning Legion. In my homeworld, they call me Illidan the Betrayer, because they think I have turned on them. That my lust for power has blinded me.”

He stops and turns to you, a vicious smile on his lips. Your heart beats faster.  
“You have seen the demons that hunted you. You have encountered them. Fought them. Even slayed some of them. But what you saw is but a mere glimpse at what the Burning Legion does. Their horrors know no end. To fight them and win there cannot be half hearted measures.”

Illidan now turns fully, scrutinizing you. “You have seen my Illidari, the Demonhunters. They are the fiercest weapon against the Legion I have. They have consumed the hearts of their enemies and drunken their blood, demon powers are flowing in their veins as they do in mine. They sacrificed everything.”

“I appreciate the enlightenment on what’s going on here, but I am merely a guest and have no intention of getting in your way - or your war,” you reply quietly. Still, your heart beats strangely loud in your chest. 

His smile is knowing.   
“So you say. And yet, in you burns the same determination, the same will to fight. To survive. You might lack the hatred for the Burning Legion, and one day, this might kill you. But as you so cunningly already perceived, I am trying to recruit you.”

Illidan grabs your chin, lifting your head with a mocking grin while he bows close. Another examination. “Stay and watch. Train with us. Witness what we can do and then tell me if you can truly walk away from all of this, when you know that the Burning Legion will come for your home, your family, your loved ones.”

Where his claws dig into your skin, it tingles. Your eyes are wide.

Standing absolutely still, you look at the glowing green behind the runecloth, Illidan’s presence pressing down on you. It’s thrilling. You should feel fear, but the beating of your heart is not fear, it’s a wardrum. 

He lets go of your chin and straightens with satisfaction on his face.   
“Ask my Illidari about the initiation ceremony. About what they saw. But choose your path carefully. And then ask yourself, if you truly just want to be a guest.”

__

You stay. You watch. You witness.  
The demonhunters seem to welcome you, telling you their stories. What they’ve lost, what they’ve found. 

They invite you to train with them, their fighting prowess and powers a force of nature. They act in unison, their belief forging a bond between them like you have seldom seen before.   
It takes everything to stand your ground against them when your blades meet. 

Two week pass like this. You are still a guest, but you feel like you belong - at least partly. You have seen how Illidan’s army works, you have even witnessed how new demonhunters come to be. 

A cruel, horrifying process.   
And yet, it doesn’t scare you. 

Your restlessness grows every day, yet you cannot say what it is that would give you peace. 

You watch a few Illidari return from a mission to another demon-infested world. It’s no secret to you that Illidan sends them to hunt the Burning Legion’s generals where they think they are safest. 

They carry the dead body of a demonhunter. You know her. She told you about her past and how the Legion slew her family in front of her. She told you in all the horrid detail. Now she’s dead, too. 

Illidan steps closer, and his face shows a hint of sadness and fury. You hear him murmur words in his mother tongue, a beautiful lilting in his voice, before he casts a spell, setting the dead body aflame. 

The stern, hard faces of demonhunters watch the ceremony, determination written on them. They will avenge this death thousand fold.  
Their determination draws you to them. Draws you to Illidan. 

You lack the hatred for the Burning Legion, but you long for something that is worth fighting for.  
You long for the family, the loved ones Illidan spoke of. 

He lifts his head and gazes in your direction as if he senses your thoughts, as if he feels that a decision is forming within you.   
You turn away, leaving the courtyard, walking, thinking. 

__

The next day, you don’t show up for training. You are standing in the initiation courtyard, right in front of the glowing rune circle on the ground. 

It should be impossible not to hear hooves on stone, yet still you only feel Illidan’s presence when he is a looming shadow behind you. 

“It seems to me you are having second thoughts about your guest status.” It sounds like he’s mocking you.   
With lightly spread wings, he starts walking, following the outer lines of the circle until the runes cast their greenish glow upon his form. He is now standing on the opposite side from where you are.

It’s feels like he is calling you. 

“In this circle, pain awaits. Despair. Destruction. You will see what I have seen and there is no turning back. Many die during the initiation. I wonder if someone who lacks the passionate hate for the Legion can even do it,” he says.

He starts walking again, coming back to you. Looking up into the eyes behind runecloth, you think you see curiosity on Illidan’s face. 

“But if you hear my calling, if you survive,” he continues, “you shall become as powerful as any of my Illidari. I see your potential.”

Potential. Power.   
You look at the circle of glowing runes again. In your imagination, it whispers to you. At least you think it’s only your imagination. 

For so long, you have been at a loss, wandering, not really having a purpose. Illidan however, he has purpose, and plenty of it. His determination seems unbreakable.   
The Illidari are the same, fighting for a cause with burning hatred and relentlessness. 

When you turn your head towards him again, he gazes at you with stern calmness and expectation.   
No sly smile now. No mocking words. 

You take a deep breath. “I will follow your call.”


	4. Hear My Name

Weeks have passed. Weeks of pain, agony and mental torment. The aftermath of the initiation is still gnawing at you, as are the demonic powers flowing through your veins. 

You rage war with yourself everyday, fighting down the demon, the voices that are haunting you from within. You got your first tattoos as a Demonhunter, a procedure almost as painful as the initiation itself, but you wear them with pride. 

You refuse to give in to the forces that are at war inside you, bringing them down again and again with the sheer force of your will to survive and to be a part of something greater. You have seen what Illidan has seen.

All those worlds lying dead, devastated by the Burning Legion. The destruction, pain and desecration were unbearable to witness, so unbearable, you blinded yourself, your eyes becoming the same glowing green sockets you already have seen when looking in the faces of other Demonhunters. 

Now you are a part of the Illidari. You fight and train with them, you feel them, and together you hunt down the minions that are sent to thwart Lord Illidan’s plans. Demons after demons pour from portals you are sent to close. Sometimes your new master and mentor himself accompanies you and the others. 

Other than then, you seldom get to see him. Despite being among his followers, Illidan seems to be lost in thought and almost forlorn at times. No one except you seems to notice - or maybe they just pretend they don’t.   
He never shares more than rough plans in the meetings with his Illidari council, his highest advisors. No one knows more than that he wants to carry the fight to the Legion, to its heart.

You don’t care. You have witnessed his cunningness and intellect, and you trust him.  
What you do care about is his loneliness.

You sneak into the innermost sanctum of the Black Temple to find out what troubles your Lord.   
You find him bowed over maps and maps and maps, star charts and alchemistic calculations, books of runes and sorcery. 

Sneaking closer, observing his sharp features and the leathery wings, you feel a gentle longing in your chest.

You want to help him, bring him whatever he needs, slay the demons that haunt him. 

“You should know by now that it is barely possible to sneak up on me.” Lord Illidan’s dark voice sounds half annoyed, half amused. Propping up an elbow, he lays his chin in his hand, looking in your general direction. 

You leave the shadows of your observation post, slowly stepping a little closer towards the man. 

“It has been a while since someone was so insolent as to seek out these chambers. Everyone knows they are off limits, unless they are called here.”  
Illidan rises from his chair. 

“However, it might even be possible I called you. The first demonhunter born not from hatred against the Legion.”  
As he closes the distance between you, you do not look away, holding his fel-green gaze. 

A hand wraps around your chin, claws digging into it softly, teasingly. A slow smile spreads across Illidan’s face. “Maybe you are the key.. The key to wielding power without all the sacrifice.”

“There must always be a sacrifice,” you respond. 

“Certainly. But maybe not as much as many of us needed to endure.” He spreads his wings slightly, studying your face.   
Lifting your chin a little more towards his face, he bows down, dropping his voice to an alluring murmur. “Tell me why you became a demonhunter, Illidari.”

“I wanted bonds. Friendship. A family. A reason to fight for. I felt drawn to your leadership, Lord Illidan,” you answer quietly. 

Another slow smile, dark and satisfied.   
He lets go of your chin and turns. “Intriguing. And what made you break the rules of this Temple and come here, Illidari?”

“Your loneliness,” you answer. Seeing how he lifts his eyebrows in an almost unbelieving way, you put your chin forward.  
“So in a way you indeed called me here, Lord Illidan.”

“Clearly,” he says dryly, but there is this wicked grin on his face that makes your stomach lurch in anticipation.   
Looking back to the myriads of books, charts and calculations on his huge table, he seems to consider your words. 

Nodding, as if he made up his mind, he closes the gap between you once more, bowing down. His breath caresses your ear and nape as he speaks, the voice dark and alluring.   
“Will you keep me company, then?” he asks, weaving one hand through your hair, tugging lightly until you present him your throat. 

You swallow, feeling the heat he emanates, feeling the heat that rises within yourself.  
When his lips glide over your neck, you close your eyes. 

“Yes, Lord Illidan,” you answer with slightly rough voice. 

You feel another smile spreading across his face where his lips touch your flesh. Effortlessly, he pushes you back against the nearest wall, caging you in a strong embrace that baths you in heat. 

The ridges of his muscles press firmly against you, his tattoos casting a greenish glow over the both of you.  
Lord Illidan grazes his sharp teeth teasingly over your neck, before his lips catch on your left collar bone to suck it. Your own hands tremble with anticipation, daring to weave into the raven black hair covering his nape. 

He only lets go of you so you can strip off your armor and clothes. Instead of helping you getting open clasps and strings and bindings, he lets his gaze roam over you, his lips twisted upwards in a mocking smile, a hint of appreciation in it. 

Your heart beats like a wardrum for him.  
He’s upon you, the moment the last piece of cloth falls to the floor. This time, he kisses you.  
While his huge hands caress your body hungrily from the shoulders down the front to the hips, his lips and tongue remain surprisingly gentle. 

Your breath catches harder than any fight would make you when his fingers reach your heated, swollen nethers, massaging and taunting, bringing you to the verge quickly.   
But he doesn’t push you over the edge yet. 

Instead, he lifts you up and against the wall with both hands on your ass, high enough his mouth can roam your naked torso without his horns getting in the way, his hot tongue licking over nipples and muscles, making you writhe in sweetest agony.   
His silken hair slips from your fingers. You grip his curved, rough horns instead, throwing back your head in another moan of pleasure as he lifts you even higher to reach your nethers again, tending to your needs with his lips and tongue. 

“Lord Illidan….,” you rasp, warning him, begging him. You will not last long under such delicious ministration.   
He chuckles darkly, satisfied. When he’s looking up to you, you see mischief on his face, his loneliness and fatigue washed away by lust. 

It makes you proud. It makes you bold. 

You gasp for him, when he slides a finger inside you, first one, then a second. You expected pain, inevitably so with the claws his hands are featuring. But there is nothing but the glorious feeling of something filling you. 

It’s not enough, but enough so you complain with a little hiss when the fingers vanish.

“Such impatience,” he murmurs, half a chuckle escaping him again. His dark, rough voice makes you shiver in anticipation, caressing your senses just as intense as his hands or tongue are. 

Slowly, he lets you down far enough so he’s towering you again. Tilting his head forward and sideways, Illidan bites your earlobe just so it hurts. “If you want me inside you, you have to free me yourself.”

You try to shake off enough of the enticing haze that clouds your mind to make sense of his words. Your gaze falls upon the huge bulge in his tight pants. Licking your lips, you undo the binding with shaking hands, his glowing eyes upon you all the time.

When you rub your hand over the hard flesh straining against the fabric, he growls, his hips twitching greedily against your fingers. You rub harder, and Lord Illidan moans harshly.   
Suddenly more than impatient, you pry open the binding of his pants as far as possible, yanking them down enough you can undo the loin cloth.

Finally, your hands are able to feel his erected, hard flesh, silken smooth and dripping for you. 

“Hold on tight, Illidari,” he warns you. You barely have time to react, wrapping your arms around his neck just in time before he lifts you a bit, prodding your entrance with his wet tip.   
Despite the hunger, the fervor in his eyes, he eases into you slowly, a little bit farther with every push.

Your nails dig into his back. 

And then he’s inside you, starting to thrust painfully slow at first. Only when you snarl at him does he pick up the pace, dark satisfaction and a beautiful bliss on his face. The picture burns into your memory.

You lose yourself in the rhythmic sound of breathing and flesh against flesh. It is glorious, a warm, devouring feeling of lust.

Soon, the heat becomes unbearable. The edge is coming closer, almost excruciatingly sweet.  
You take one arm from Illidan’s neck to bring it between you, massaging your own nethers impatiently.

“I want to hear my name,” he demands, his breath close to your ear again, his tongue licking over it.

His command makes you moan. The edge does a sudden leap and as you are pushed over it, sweetness and tingling explode inside you. Obedient, you cry out his name, forgetting his title, savoring the taste of it on your lips. He rewards you with a ravenous kiss and thrusts harder, deeper, finally coming hot inside you.

His breath is harsh, ragged. You feel his body tremble under his release. And then, with his delicious dark voice, he whispers your name.


End file.
